


for a moment, we were able to be still

by spiralpegasus



Series: Sylvix Week 2019 [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), mentioned alcohol use, not a lot of plot here, theres some kissing though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralpegasus/pseuds/spiralpegasus
Summary: There's nothing quite like a cup of tea to take a break and relax when life gets complicated.Or, five times Sylvain and Felix take tea together throughout the years.Sylvix Week 2019 Day Six: Tea Time





	for a moment, we were able to be still

**Author's Note:**

> title from no choir by f+tm because it makes me emotional every time i hear it
> 
> again, unbeta'd because im writing these on the same day the prompt is due. im living dangerously

Felix is more of a coffee person, really.

There are some varieties of tea he can appreciate – the bitter ones, or the ones with a lot of spice. Still, the Garreg Mach tradition of sitting around sipping tea with each other is so unlike anything he’s ever experienced in Faerghus that for the most part, he doesn’t participate at all.

“It’s an Empire thing, I think,” Sylvain tells him, sitting at the edge of the training ground watching Felix go through his cool-down exercises. Of course, he hasn’t done a bit of training himself. He’s just here to pester Felix. “The weather’s nicer down there. I think the nobles like to have an excuse to sit outside.”

“It’s lazy,” Felix says shortly.

Sylvain laughs. “You think it’s lazy to spend more than ten minutes eating a meal.”

“There are better things to do than laze about drinking tea and gossiping.” Felix lifts his shirt to wipe some of the sweat off his face, and when he lowers it, Sylvain is staring at him, lips parted. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sylvain says, schooling his expression back to its usual easy smile. “You wanna try it? You’re all done training for today. Maybe you’ll enjoy it!”

“What, tea?” Felix eyes Sylvain strangely. “Why would I be interested in that?”

“Teach will kill you if you overwork yourself again. I’m just doing you a favor,” Sylvain coaxes.

He has a point. Felix, unused to accommodating the Professor’s rigorous weekly training in his own routine, once overtaxed his muscles to the point of being useless for days. The Professor’s face doesn’t show a lot of emotion, but even Felix felt himself withering under his disappointed stare.

“Whatever.” Felix hangs his training sword back up on the rack. “If you start talking about girls, I’m leaving.”

“You’re cruel,” Sylvain says, slinging an arm over Felix’s shoulders and leading him towards the door. “What kind of tea do you like, anyway?”

“I just drink whatever the Professor makes me,” Felix says shortly. The Professor is the one exception to his rule about teatime, if only because it’s impossible to say no to him.

Sylvain sighs, jostling Felix against his side. “You’re hopeless. I’ll see if I can guess.”

Whatever Sylvain picks, it’s not bad; it has a pleasantly earthy flavor with deeply bitter undertones. Sylvain himself is drinking bergamot. He lets Felix try a sip, and he laughs when Felix scrunches his face at the bright notes of citrus.

“You’re so predictable sometimes,” Sylvain tells him, gently nudging his feet under the table.

“You’re one to talk.” Felix takes another sip of the tea Sylvain made for him. “What is this, anyway?”

He’s trying to sound disinterested, but the way Sylvain’s face lights up means he’s failed. “Aww, did I guess correctly?” Sylvain says, his voice a warm mix of teasing and fond.

“Shut up,” Felix says. He returns Sylvain’s earlier nudge with a kick to Sylvain’s shin. “It’s not awful.”

“That means you like it!” Sylvain crows. “I have a few other blends to try on you, too.”

Felix scowls. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Almyran pine needles,” Sylvain replies easily. When Felix aims another kick at him, he loops his ankles around Felix’s and holds Felix’s foot hostage. “I’ll be sure to let Teach know, too.”

“Ugh.” Felix tugs at his foot, but Sylvain holds fast. Rolling his eyes, Felix abandons his foot to its fate and takes another sip of tea.

It becomes something of a tradition, then – Sylvain hauling Felix off to the gazebo to sit and take tea with him. He tries several blends of tea, including a honey-sweet one that nearly makes Felix gag while Sylvain howls with laughter. Sylvain doesn’t branch out much from bergamot, and when Felix asks, he says it’s started to remind him of Felix more than anything else.

Felix flushes, and mysteriously, so does Sylvain.

* * *

The class has been back from Conand Tower for two days now, and Felix hasn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Sylvain. His original plan was to give Sylvain as much space as he needed, but Sylvain isn’t the kind of person who needs solitude to recover. He needs people. Needs company. Everyone else is tiptoeing around Sylvain’s dorm room like the Lance of Ruin will come crashing through the door if they’re too loud, so Felix takes it upon himself to be the first one to bridge the gap.

“Sylvain?” Felix calls through the door, as gently as he’s able. He raps his knuckles on the wood with one hand, the other holding a mug of fresh bergamot.

“Hey, Fe,” Sylvain replies without opening the door. His voice is a brittle kind of cheerful that sounds like it could snap at any moment. “Maybe you could come back later.”

Felix blows out a quiet, frustrated breath as he tries the door. It’s not locked, so he opens it a crack and slips through, shutting it behind him as quickly and quietly as he opened it. There’s no one else in the hallway, but being careless with it when Sylvain is this vulnerable feels wrong.

“I brought tea,” Felix says awkwardly. The mug steams in his hand.

Sylvain is on the floor next to his bed, knees pulled to his chest. His room, usually immaculate, has pieces of his uniform scattered about on its floor. The vase of flowers the Professor gave him is on its side on his desk, water long since soaked into the wood. It’s the still, quiet aftermath of a breakdown that has Felix’s heart clenching.

“You’re not very good at listening to me, are you,” Sylvain says. He doesn’t look up from the floor. He’s clenching the neck of a half-empty bottle in one hand.

“It’s not my fault you have no idea how to look after yourself.” Felix’s voice doesn’t have any heat in it, though. He slides down into a sitting position in front of Sylvain, crossing his legs and setting the mug of tea onto the floor between them.

“I should hate him.” The false cheer bleeds from Sylvain’s voice, leaving it hollow and weak. “He was a terrible person.”

Felix places a tentative hand on Sylvain’s knee. “He was your brother.”

“He tried to kill me.” Sylvain’s laugh is rough and ugly. “I never asked to be born, you know. Let alone with a Crest.”

Working his fingers under the grip Sylvain has on the bottle, Felix purses his lips. “No one asks for the life they’re born with.”

“But he blamed me for mine.” Sylvain lets Felix slip the bottle out of his grip. Enough of it is gone that Sylvain is probably drunk. Felix breathes out slowly through his nose and sets the bottle on the floor behind him.

He never knows what to say in the face of other people’s suffering. Sylvain so rarely lets Felix see the pain he hides under all his masks, and here Felix is, struck speechless again at the depth of Sylvain’s anguish.

“Drink your tea,” Felix says hoarsely, picking up the cup and shoving it into Sylvain’s hands.

“You don’t care about my Crest,” Sylvain says, starting to slur now that he’s not so carefully articulating his words. He cups his hands around the porcelain of the teacup but doesn’t drink from it. “You never have.”

“No. I care about you, not your Crest.” Felix scoots closer on the floor so that his legs and Sylvain’s are almost touching.

“One person out of everyone I’ve ever met,” Sylvain says bitterly. The cup trembles in his grip. “Nothing else to love about me but my title and my Crest, huh? Miklan could see that. It’s why—”

“Don’t say that!” Felix snarls. “You’re the one who hides everything about yourself except those things!”

“Not from you,” Sylvain says in a small voice.

Felix relents, trying to squash the rage in his chest into a shape that he can use to comfort Sylvain, not condemn him. “Not from me,” he agrees.

Finally, Sylvain lifts the cup to his lips and takes a small sip. “You still suck at brewing tea,” he says, but he drinks from the cup again right after.

“I’m happy you were born,” Felix says suddenly.

Sylvain blinks at him over the rim of the cup, his eyes soft and hazy with inebriation. “Hm?”

“You—said you didn’t ask to be born.” Suddenly uncertain, Felix picks at the carpet. “But I’m glad you were.”

Face softening into the first genuine smile of the night, Sylvain nudges Felix with his foot. “Hey,” he whispers. “I’m happy you were born, too. And… if one of you had to die, I’m happy it was Glenn, not you.”

No one’s ever said that to Felix before. Nothing even close. People haven’t said the opposite, either, but they’ve come damn close.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Felix, wordless, gives Sylvain a gentle kick in return.

* * *

After the fall of Garreg Mach, there’s very little time for frivolities like tea.

Felix hasn’t seen Sylvain in person for months, now. Both of their territories need them at home, defending the borders. They send letters when they can, but Felix finds himself missing the easy company of Sylvain sipping bergamot across from him.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy chamomile, but it’s what he finds himself brewing after a march home from a long, bloody battle at the edge of Charon’s territory. It was Dimitri’s favorite, even after he lost the ability to taste. He said he found it soothing.

Felix has been thinking of Dimitri in the past tense since the western rebellion all those years ago, but it has an air of finality to it now that makes his chest ache. The Dimitri he knew died in Duscur, it’s true, but he’d still clung to the boar wearing his best friend’s face for all those years, and now that he’s gone—

The chamomile tastes sour in his mouth, and he tries to tell himself it’s because he steeped it for too long.

His father is in his study. They don’t often take meals or tea together, and Felix sits alone at the sprawling dining table, his tea cooling in front of him as he opens a letter from Sylvain.

It’s nothing overly personal. They can’t risk sending sensitive information on paper if they can help it. Still, Sylvain’s familiar handwriting is more of a comfort than Felix cares to admit.

_I hope you make yourself a nice cup of tea while you read this,_ Sylvain writes, and Felix can see his smile in his mind’s eye. _Imagine me sitting across from you. It’s just like old times, huh?_

Nothing will ever be just like old times ever again. Felix was a fool to find any comfort in the normalcy Garreg Mach brought him. The people, the classes, the easy camaraderie despite the borders of their nations. The way the Professor smiled, small and sincere, when his hand touched Dimitri’s as they shared tea at the table beside Felix and Sylvain’s.

The Professor is gone. Dimitri is gone. Dedue is gone too, for all of Felix’s mixed feelings about him. Ingrid, Ashe, Mercedes, Annette, and Sylvain all survived the fall, but Felix isn’t sure how much of them will be left even if they survive this war.

_We’ll see each other again soon,_ Sylvain’s letter reads. His handwriting is a little wobbly here. _We’ll drink tea together again. Don’t die before then. Or, if you do, make sure I’m there dying by your side._

That promise. Sometimes it’s all that keeps Felix’s blade up when he’s fighting. He’s not allowed to die before Sylvain.

He finishes the tea, even though it’s gone cold and tastes like ash on his tongue. The space beside him at the table is cold, too, and he drops his face into his hands.

* * *

The Professor smells like chamomile tea.

It’s a strange thing to notice after five years of believing him dead, but it’s also a strange thing for someone who’s supposed to be a corpse to smell like. Not that Felix is clinging to the Professor in a hug and breathing in his scent, or anything – the Professor just opened his arms and what was Felix supposed to do, walk away? They’re back at the monastery after cleaning out the bandits, and things are starting to look livable again, and there’s finally time for everyone to indulge in each other’s company.

Byleth has such a nice way of swaying from side to side when he hugs people. Felix is not getting emotional. Absolutely not.

When he finally breaks the hug and lets Byleth wander off to scoop the other members of their class into warm hello hugs of their own, Felix finds himself drifting back towards Sylvain’s side. He’s barely seen Sylvain during these five long years of war, and it’s like his body is drawn to him, wanting to make up for years of absence.

“Hard to believe both of them were alive this whole time,” Sylvain says, a thin veneer of cheer coating his voice.

Felix snorts. “Whether or not the boar could be called _alive_ is arguable.” He can’t feel any victory at how right he was about the monster that lives under Dimitri’s skin. Mostly, it just makes his heart feel hollow to listen to Dimitri mutter to his ghosts.

“I’d like to think he’s still in there somewhere,” Sylvain says. There’s no readable emotion in his tone, and when Felix glances over at him, his face is blank, too. It’s unsettling that even after a lifetime of knowing Sylvain, Felix can’t read him nearly as well as Sylvain can read him.

“There are tea leaves left in the kitchen,” Felix says.

Sylvain turns to look at him, eyebrows up, a smile teasing the edge of his lips. “Oh? You haven’t forgotten our tradition, even after all these years?”

Felix gives him a light shove. “You made sure to remind me in all your damned letters,” he grumbles as they start to make their way to the old kitchen.

“I kept imagining you across from me,” Sylvain says wistfully. Felix can’t snap at him when he sounds so genuine, so he stays quiet and listens. “Things just kept falling away from me. Nothing felt like it mattered anymore. Just you.”

So many nights, Felix’s only anchor was the thought of Sylvain’s face if he heard Felix went and died without him. “Yeah,” is what he says, voice rough with emotion, because he’s always been terrible at putting words to his thoughts.

Sylvain seems to understand, because he wraps an arm around Felix’s shoulders and pulls him in close. 

The kitchen is crumbling, full of holes in the stonework. Felix has to use his meager skill with magic to light a fire beneath the teapot. The furniture is all in such disrepair that he and Sylvain settle on the floor to take their tea, and it’s not even one they particularly enjoy – just an old almond blend that was sealed up well enough that the vermin couldn’t get to it. 

“To taking back our country and putting our Prince on the throne,” Sylvain says with a subdued grin. His feet are tangled with Felix’s as they sit across from each other. He lifts his teacup.

Felix scoffs, but he taps his cup to Sylvain’s. “To keeping our promise for five years.”

Sylvain’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “And to keeping it for many more.”

* * *

Their first kiss tastes like bergamot.

They’ve taken back Fhirdiad, and Sylvain follows Felix when he retires during the festivities. They take tea together in the old Fraldarius guest quarters in the castle to wind down from the party, and Sylvain sets his cup down, and Felix’s eyes flicker to his lips. Warm and loose with alcohol, light with victory, they lean in at the same time.

It tastes like bergamot, and Felix nearly knocks the teapot over as he pushes over the table to kiss Sylvain more deeply. Laughing against Felix’s lips, Sylvain nudges him back and stands to cross the distance to Felix’s chair. Felix’s noise of protest at their separation is silenced when Sylvain settles in Felix’s lap, straddling Felix’s thighs.

“You taste like that disgusting tea,” is what comes out of Felix’s mouth, even as he loops his arms around Sylvain’s neck to pull him down.

Sylvain’s hands slide up Felix’s jaw, his thumbs brushing Felix’s cheekbones. “You still hate it, after all these years?” he whispers against Felix’s lips between kisses.

He’s warm and solid in Felix’s lap, his lips soft despite their hunger. His hands are gentle when they tug Felix’s hair out of its ponytail, and Felix runs his fingers through Sylvain’s hair and gives it a gentle tug in return.

He thinks maybe he could learn to like the taste of bergamot.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> felix is still unable to drink bergamot, but it's because it makes him think of things he'd rather not be thinking about in public ;)


End file.
